


The Art of Separation

by WhiteLadyoftheRing



Category: Thursday Next - Jasper Fforde
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 14:06:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteLadyoftheRing/pseuds/WhiteLadyoftheRing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An introspective look at Thursday's life before, during and after Landen's absence.  Probably slightly AU from some details from the books.  Set across Lost In A Good Book, The Well of Lost Plots, Something Rotten and ends before the events of First Among Sequels.  Canon Thursday/Landen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Separation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acquiredsight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acquiredsight/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! I wanted to thank you for requesting a story about Thursday missing Landen. I'm writing this days after my husband has deployed for the next six months, and I found this really cathartic to write. I took some liberties because I haven't read this part of the series in many years and didn't have time to do a re-read, so I hope this lives up to your expectations!

_i._

 

Life with Landen is good.  Not that Thursday expected otherwise, but after everything they’ve been through she guards herself by keeping watch for some hidden catch.  It takes time, but eventually she learns that this – their life together – is not going to fall apart the moment she closes her eyes.

 

She’s never been one for domesticity, but she’s grateful for the brief reprieve offered by his constant presence.  Today, the most frightening thing she’s encountered is merely Landen’s scowl upon being told it’s his turn to do the dishes.  Any day with this track record, though boring, is a refreshing relief in her mind.

 

They’re celebrating, because for the first time in their lives, they’re following the normal sequence of events.  First comes love, then comes marriage, (maybe some loss of life and limb in the middle there), then children and a life of wiping the drool off one another’s chins.  After ten frustrating years, they’d reached that third official stage, and this deserved a celebration.

 

He smiles at her, that half-boyish, half-too-old smile that makes her heart melt like a teenage girl, and takes her hand.  “This is good,” he says, re-stating the obvious for the third time tonight.  He presses his fingertips against the flat plane of her abdomen, and she presses her own hand over his, because that’s the sort of thing normal people do in these moments.

 

She feels the dread though, the thought that this will all be over and he’ll be ripped from her once more, and she knows that this part isn’t normal at all.  It takes up root in the pit of her stomach, where – she thinks – she should feel butterflies instead.  The foreboding is overwhelming, but there’s no sense in worrying Landen.

 

Thursday smiles past the fear and replies, “It really is, isn’t it?”  Because this moment is only going to happen once, and she needs to enjoy it.

 

Today is enough.

 

 

_ii._

 

Life without Landen is hard.  She feels his absence as a sharp jolt in her belly, amplified by every fluttering of life growing within her womb.  She reminds herself that it’s important to take care of herself, to eat right and keep herself from danger (as if she could).  But the wonders of the Book World are no true distraction.  She would trade them all for one more chance to berate him for farting in bed, or for tripping over his leg on the way to the loo.  This is the bargaining stage of grief, right?  This constant effort to give up anything and everything she has for one more moment with him, no matter how mundane.

 

Her child stirs within her – _their_ child – and she breaks.  It would be easier to believe herself insane, that he’d never even existed, just a phantom of a dream stuck in her subconscious.  Perhaps he’d been real, but died in Crimea in the place of Anton.  It would be easier to be rid of everything, but their child is still preparing for the world, kicking and squirming inside of her.  She’ll never forget her child’s father, and she almost wishes she could.

 

That is, until she does.  Things are easier, but more confusing.  Her life doesn’t add up anymore, and she can’t for the life of her remember getting pregnant.  But she is, so she chalks it up to a sketchy night at an even sketchier pub.

 

The night Friday makes his way into the world, she remembers.  Not in the conventional sense, but feels the pangs of loss anew, as if something is missing from this moment when she first looks into her son’s eyes and feels the awe and weighty responsibility of parenthood.

 

Trembling, she presses her lips to the child’s head and whispers, “If only your father were here,” and she isn’t entirely certain why.

 

If only.

 

 

_iii._

 

Life with Landen is good.  Hectic, but good.  Friday is a bundle of energy, and his stubbornness is a force to be reckoned with.  He’s a handful, but she and Landen know that he’ll do great things one day; her own father had told her so, and he of all people knows the future.

 

Tuesday is too smart for her own good, having already exceeded both of her parents’ skills in maths long ago.  But she’s still a child, so Landen insists she works in crayon and finger paints.  One of these days, he’s going to realize that wasn’t the best policy.

 

Jenny is quiet, the quietest baby Thursday has ever seen, in fact.  She’s Landen’s little princess, of course.  Thursday had never expected him to be the doting father – at least not to this extent – but she must be happy; she never makes a sound.  Thursday only hopes he’ll relinquish bath-time to her, but she isn’t counting on it.

 

Today, she’s scrubbing maths equations written in crayon off the walls, while Landen’s scrubbing paint off of Friday.  She holds her breath waiting for Jenny to wake up and make this moment even more unmanageable.  Some days, her children are even more trying than Goliath at their worst.

 

She sits back finally, having resigned herself to re-painting the kitchen when Friday’s ‘blue period’ is over.  “Parenting is hard,” she says when Landen joins her on the floor, having tucked a clean Friday into bed.

 

“Yeah,” he agrees.

 

She leans into him, and breathes in his scent (which could be better, because she’s pretty sure he hasn’t showered in days).  She doesn’t mind, though, because these are the moments she remembers bargaining for so many years ago.  Thursday Next may be a lot of bad things, but she is not a hypocrite, and she will not take these moments for granted.

 

“I should check on Jenny,” she says, realizing she hasn’t in awhile, and moves to get up.

 

Landen pulls her back against him, arms looping round her waist.  “Already did,” he tells her, and presses a kiss to her neck.

 

She thinks she should still tuck Jenny in again, but his lips feel _really_ good against her skin, and she decides it can wait a few more hours.

 

Later, she trips over his leg when she gets up to pee in the middle of the night, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
